


The image of the dead

by GrimRed



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 'one shot' i said like a liar, (not really) - Freeform, Angst, Can be read as stand-alone, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Not Canon Compliant, Past Minecraft Monday, Songfic, Vik-centric, no beta we die like men, tags are scary but i promise its not that bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 08:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28467951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimRed/pseuds/GrimRed
Summary: Vik goes on a relaxing walk through L'manburg.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Vikkstar123 (Video Blogging RPF), No Romantic Relationship(s), Vikkstar123 & Lazarbeam (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	The image of the dead

**Author's Note:**

> “Someone has to provide vik content” I whisper as I open a google doc at 3am
> 
> Now I know they have never interacted with each other on the smp so I had to base this off the minuscule notices in McM.  
> I recommend watching Quackity's McM video to get the gist of it.

_“I grieve in stereo. The stereo sounds strange. You know that if it hides, it doesn't go away. If I get out of bed, You’ll see me standing all alone.  
Horrified.  
On the stage.  
My little dark age.”_

\--

It’s another cold night in Boomerville and Vik’s joints ache with winter frost. Lazar is a warm body next to him wrapped up like a christmas present in pale-blue woolen blankets. They were a gift from Techno as _“Thanks for visitin’ me!”_

It’s been days and Vik refuses to touch them. 

Lazar snores, loudly. 

He stares through half-lidded eyes before deciding to sit up. The bed creaks in response to his moving weight. 

Lazar stirs, momentarily then stops. 

Vik rubs away the fatigue in his eyes before swinging his legs over onto the wooden floor. He contemplates for a minute watching the new man-made shadows from Mexican L’Manberg or El rapids, or whatever the fuck- dance around his walls. 

Mexican L’Manberg is an ugly piece of work that sits in their backyard. A dusty dirt mountain home to absolutely nothing. Vik would know, he and Lazar had explored the barren area. Almost totally obscuring their view of _actual_ L’Manberg, which in Vik’s completely _reasonable_ opinion was a bit easier on the eyes. 

His partner, sour-faced and spiteful had declared it an abomination. Vik agreed, quietly. 

He stands up, shuffling carefully towards his shoes, slipping them on with ease before heading to the door only stopping to grab his _still-drying-wet-from-snow-_ cloak. 

“Where are you going?” Lazar’s voice is low and raspy. 

“Gonna go talk a walk.” 

Lazar rearranges his position going from laying straight on his back to his side now facing a wall. “Don’t be out for too long.” Like a dad to his teenage daughter. 

“I won’t.” Vik murmurs, stepping outside in his shitty cloak. Early-December air hitting him like a minecart at full speeds. He swiftly closes the door behind him. 

\--

It’s snowing, L’Manburg is a candle in the distance, a gentle golden-glow illuminating it’s premises. 

Vik walks through the territory like he’s president. Techno’s voice replays in his mind; “what keeps you up at night, Vikkstar?” His voice fuzzy from sleepiness, undertone of mocking still seeping through. Subconsciously, Vik’s pace picks up. The nation is decorated with snow and shoddy wanted “dead” or alive Technoblade posters scattered all over. 

It’s snowing but the air feels hot and humid as if it were summer. 

It’s snowing but Vik can hear the chants of competitors egging each other on, daring each other to throw the first swing. 

It’s snowing and Vik tastes metal. 

It’s still snowing when he runs past pretty sky lanterns, a grave of an ex-president, and several empty homes. 

Blood roaring in the man’s ears, he jumps, with practiced ease of a veteran, now standing on top of a roof overseeing the main square of the town, heart pounding, the air is frigid but crisp and Vik feels like he can finally breathe again. 

\--

“Hey! Who the fuck are you!” It hangs in the air, knife-like. Vik immediately drops to his knees. Hiding behind a chimney. 

“Too late, asshole I already saw you.” He hears the sound of dragging footsteps followed behind that statement. “Come out.” 

He reaches for his iron axe, a pool of dread forming in his gut, now realizing he had forgotten it. Probably sitting untouched and cold on his crafting table. “Shit.” It comes out in the form of a hissing breath. 

Vik wonders if he’s about to be put in an early grave, all snuggled up and cozy with Schlatt. 

“Come out, don’t make me ask again.” 

Sighing in defeat, Vik appears out from his hiding place, “Okay, okay, I’m right here.” He holds his hands up, placatingly, struggling to steady his breath. 

Rather than greeted with a knight in suit of netherite armor or with an arrow to the neck, Vik stares down upon the face of a boy, young looking, a teenager, perhaps? The boy’s stoic, scowling face falters, a crack in the wall, an unstable pillar to someone’s temple, a faulty foundation.

“You,’ He starts, his dark hair peeks out beneath a tattered well-loved blue beanie, “You, I remember you.” The boy points a thin index finger in his direction. “I-I know you.”

Vik raises his eyebrows and he rocks back and forth awkwardly in the rooftop gutter, he lifts his head skyward before asking: “Who are you?” It’s a polite inquiry. The brit regrets it the moment it leaves his mouth. 

The boy’s face completely falls this time, a squeak erupting from his throat, sounding like a hurt animal and Vik is scared he made the kid cry, when looks back down- he half expects tears to be pricking at the corners of the kid’s eyes. 

Vik suppresses the explosive sigh of relief when he gets met with the opposite, the boy’s eyes harden into flint, “I’m Quackity.’ 

The face and voice sound familiar but no dice. 

“Quackity.” he repeats, slowly, tasting the name. He has seen it somewhere, messily scrawled across a piece of parchment in red ink.

A signature?

It’s on the tip of his tongue. Tastes like kick-up-dirt-from-running and copper-desperation. 

Sounds like...yelling. 

It falls on him like a pile of gravel, suffocating, as it all clicks into place.

It was on a _roster._

Vik’s eyes widen and Quackity nods, they have _met_ before, in an _arena._

__“I remember you, ya’know?” Whispering like it's a secret. And vik wonders if he can outrun Quackity. If he can reach Boomerville before Quackity even clocks his departure. Fast enough to lock the door behind him. Jump into bed and scare Lazar so bad in the process he falls off. He would yell and Vik would stay silent._ _

__But he stays, standing in the gross-muddy gutter of someone’s house in the middle of night. “Yeah I remember, too.” A bead of cold sweat falling from his hairline to his collarbones._ _

__Quackity flashes white teeth, his mouth stretched into a broad smile. It’s the small victories of any variety, Quackity is all too willing to take. His face is dirty like he’s been rolling around in mud._ _

__The boy paces around Vik’s feet, his energy renewed, “I’ve waited for this day.” He breathes, excitement bleeding into his voice forcing it shaky. “You killed me.” The offhandedly way it’s said betrays the severity of the situation._ _

__Vik’s blood runs cold. Once again his mind wonders if he’ll be buried right next to Schlatt._ _

__Probably not._ _

__Lazar wouldn’t allow it. And honestly neither would Tommy. He’d imagine some kind of festival of some sort held in his remembrance._ _

__Lazar would give a speech and-_ _

__Quackity laughs, a hollow and thin, “I searched all over for replays of your old tournaments, I looked up to you,” He says it in that on-your-knees-praying sort of tone, “I watched you, I studied you.”_ _

_“I wanted to be you?”_ It’s the same spiel Vik has heard countless times in his glory days, from star-stuck fans, from gritted-knocked out teeth, to silent poisonous envy. His hands twitch remembering the ghost weight of burying an axe into Quackity’s back. He must be here to reciprocate the same treatment Vik had given him. 

__Vik feels like he’s gonna vomit, bile steadily rising in his throat._ _

__Quackity must’ve noticed how quiet the British man was.“Hey, I’m not here to hurt you,’ He soothes, “I’m not not that type of person.”_ _

__Vik breathes, slowly, his chest expanding until it shakes, “Alright.” Is all he says._ _

__They stand across from each other, the moon silent and overseeing, the gutter whines under the weight of Vik’s shoes, “Do- Do you mind coming down here?’ Quackity tries, voice still soft as if he were talking to a scared, wild animal._ _

__“I’m good.”_ _

__The boy chews on his bottom lip, looking down, pondering Vik’s answer, he tugs at his jacket sleeve after a moment, gazing back up at Vik, “Do you mind if I go up there?’ A beat of silence passes and Vik reluctantly shuffles back leaving space for Quackity._ _

__Quackity’s eyes shine like a kid whose struck diamond, he jumps up hanging on to the gutter Vik was just standing on, knuckles-white as tries to pull himself up, nails scraping against the metal leaving little, thin lines behind. Vik watches as the boy struggles pulling himself up._ _

__“I’m fine just give me a second.’_ _

__Vik huffs, relenting and holding out a hand to Quackity. Hoping that this isn’t a mistake, he’ll regret later on. Quackity takes it gratefully, his hand burns from the slight warmth of Vik’s. The veteran lifts him up easily. He lets go only after Quackity is stable enough to stand on his own._ _

__“Thanks.”_ _

__Vik hums his acknowledgement, refusing to look at the boy. From the few glances he stole, he’s realized Quackity has gotten older. Way older. No longer baby-faced, there are mean lines carved into his face, Vik assumes from a particularly nasty scuffle, deep eye bags that could be mistaken for two black eyes, a sharp jawline disrupted by an ugly blast scar, too big to be caused by a creeper._ _

__Vik shivers, it's only been a year._ _

__‘I saw you, you and your friend-”_ _

__“Lazar.’’_ _

__“Yeah, you and Lazar,’ The rustling of clothes sound right beside him, the rapid-muffled clearing of snow, he feels Quackity’s figure sit down on the rooftop, “you were with _him,”_ Quackity tugs at his cloak, a gentle invitation to sit down alongside him and it takes every single ounce of self-control not to swing at the kid. ‘How was it, seeing his face, I mean.” _ _

__Vik crouches down, still refusing to meet Quackity’s gaze “I’m not sure what you mean.” He brushes off the snow on his side before sitting down. He sits cross-legged._ _

__Quackity laughs and mirrors him, “No, no, you do, I know you do.”_ _

__Vik finally spares a glance towards Quackity, the moon highlighting his gaunt features, its full-to-the-brim desperation, longing to connect to someone through dried blood and dirt under fingernails, its old bruises caused by holding a handle of a sword too tight._ _

__Vik’s hands are long-since clean and healed and he aims for the jugular similar to what he did to Quackity’s partner in that first week. “I wasn’t scared, if that’s what you're asking.” The air smells like motor oil._ _

__It's a clean arrow to the neck, and Quackity’s face contorts into something bordering on non-human. “I’m not scared of him!” Quackity’s voice bounces off the wooden walls of L’manburg, creaky and high-strung like a bow string waiting to be released. He catches a sliver of movement from Quackity’s hands; they tell him that Quackity lies through gritted teeth._ _

__Vik decides not to comment. Though, he briefly entertains the idea of telling Quackity about his unwanted exposure therapy he had to endure with Techno._ _

__‘I’m not scared of him.” He repeats it, quietly this time. Desperately, like he doesn't believe it himself, forgetting that Vik happened to be in that same arena. He was a spectator above clouds when he witnessed a sword getting driven into Quackity’s side, Techno, on the other end of it. His high-pitched screams echoing off the walls of the shiny-red border._ _

__“I’m sorry, it’s wrong of me to assume otherwise.” Vik lies._ _

__Quackity doesn’t pick up on it, “Yeah, yeah it fucking is.” He watches Quackity remove bits of soil under his fingernails. ‘You wanna know something?”_ _

__Vik wonders if he has a choice, his reply comes out in the form of a white cloud._ _

__“That asshole chased me through the snow,” Quackity skittishly pulled down his beanie over his ears, ”like a serial killer, taunting me, while talking about some prey and predator._ _

__Vik wanted to laugh at the juxtaposition, Techno had led Lazar and him through the snow, laughing like old pals when they fell through a hole._ _

__He had wondered if techno felt the sickening remorse of all those bloody Mondays._ _

__

__If Techno felt anything at all._ _

__

__Vik’s shoulders tremble, remembering Techno’s broad armored body slamming into him with the force of a _goddamn_ wither and shoving him off of his makeshift tower. How his head hit the ground first before his body. The clattering of an iron sword off to his side, how if he focused enough he could hear the collective ghostly gasps of the spectators above. Some loud and accusing, others impressed and surprised at the maneuver. His chest tightened feeling a phantom stab caused by an enchanted sword._ _

__

__Techno is still the one welding it._ _

__

__“-what a load of shit, motherfucker still hasn’t changed after a year.” Quackity lets out a watery laugh while scrubbing at his eyes, ‘Such fucking bullshit.” The elder considers laying a calm arm around Quackity’s slender shoulders but if he turned out anything like Vik did, he might end up losing said arm._ _

__“Maybe it's a good thing.” Vik says, “It’s good to be scared, it's what makes us human.”_ _

__

__It’s the first real sentence Vik has said all night._ _

__

Quackity wants to scream instead he bears his teeth, “God, you’re just like him.” He balls his fists, “You’re just like him.” Like a petulant child on the verge of a temper-tantrum. “You think it's _good_ to wake up screaming from a nightmare, that it’s _good _that I can’t _even_ look at a weapon without wanting to cry, that it’s _good_ that I feel like I’m gonna die when I put some armor on?” Quackity leans in, jabbing a finger into the elder’s chest, “You think that’s _good,_ huh, Vikkstar?”__

____

____

_____ _

_____ _

______Quackity’s hands are always occupied, Vik notices._ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______Vik’s eyes catch the beginnings of a sunrise, slowly painting the sky a dark pink, he stares like there’s an answer written on the horizon. “I don’t know.” He says grimly, resigned._ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______“I’m gonna kill him.” Quackity vows in the same tone, leaning back, facing the sunrise._ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

_“He really did a number on you.”_ But Vik keeps his mouth shut. 

______ _ _ _ _

______The snowfall stopped ages ago, It’s scary he thinks, Vik is a shadow of his former self but Quackity?_ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______Quackity has been carved into a new animal. There’s movement on his back underneath his tracksuit as if something’s trying to get out._ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

Unwilling to entertain a madman any longer and praying the morning sun burns Quackity’s retinas- _for his sake._ Vik mutters a: “Good luck.’” Suddenly jumping down from his spot and startling Quackity. His feet sting when he hits the ground, he walks back towards boomerville. Ignoring Quackity’s cries, something, something, something, _coward._ Vik needs to get back in time for breakfast or else Lazar will start worrying. 

______ _ _ _ _

______When he looks back, Quackity is no longer there, only a couple of golden feathers are left in his wake._ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______\--_ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

_“Policemen swear to God. Love's seeping from the guns. I know my friends and I would probably turn and run. If you get out of bed come find us heading for the bridge.  
Bring a stone.  
All the rage.  
My little dark age.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Head in hands VIK PLEASE INTERACT WITH SOMEONE ON THE SMP FOR THE LOVE OF GOD  
> my man quackity had a whole livestream with the wrong sideman oooh lord have mercy. 
> 
> I still hoped you enjoyed it. Oh- and happy new year :D
> 
> Next one might be about Lazar getting stuck in lava and Techno and Philza rescuing him.
> 
> Something fluffy, ya know?
> 
> (Also did no one write about McM? Like there is nothing in the tags???)
> 
> Edit; Caught a few formatting mistakes and some spelling errors- sorry about that!


End file.
